


When Those Blue Snowflakes Start Falling

by Mighty_Ant



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Jewish Character, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21857887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mighty_Ant/pseuds/Mighty_Ant
Summary: “It’s been quiet,” Drake offered. “A couple attempted break-ins, some drunk Moonlanders singing Christmas carols too loud.”“O Silent Night, huh?” Launchpad replied, grinning.Drake has some trouble accepting an invitation to the annual McDuck Christmas party.
Relationships: Drake Mallard/Launchpad McQuack
Comments: 12
Kudos: 241





	When Those Blue Snowflakes Start Falling

It was cold, bitterly so. 

Snow fell steadily, to dampening effect. Even the roar of the Ratcatcher beneath him was muted through his helmet, more so than usual. He raced through traffic, cars and lights blurring past until he reached an emptier part of town. 

Drake parked the Ratcatcher in an alleyway filled with slush and refuse. The silence after cutting off the engine was absolute, punctured only by his breathing as it fogged in the air. He clapped his gloved hands, rubbing them together for a semblance of warmth before retrieving his grappling hook from his belt. It was a new model, his idea and executed by Dr. Bellum, with a practically silent firing mechanism. The night’s quietude remained unbroken as he aimed for the railing of the fire escape closest to the building’s edge, hooking on with expert accuracy. He shot up the side of the building in an instant, landing as silently as he’d made his ascent. From there, it was a small matter of climbing onto the roof.

From above, downtown Duckburg was an unshaken snowglobe, draped in gleaming white. The dirty slush on the streets might as well not have existed. Every rooftop was stark with unbroken snow, and Christmas lights glittered from within windows and wrapped around street lamps. The stars in the sky were obscured, and had instead fallen onto the streets below. 

He found Launchpad leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the rooftop, in his leather jacket and scarf. Seeing him—even seeing him doing something as banal as drinking out of a steaming styrofoam cup—bruised his insides a little. 

Drake hemmed and hawed from twenty feet away before stiltedly clearing his throat. 

Launchpad turned around, his smile already taking up his entire face. “Hey! You made it,” he said, looking happy but not at all surprised to see him. With Drake’s luck, Launchpad probably knew he was there the entire time. Or he just had faith that Drake would show, which was somehow worse. 

“I’m a man of my word,” Drake said as casually as his stroll, like his hands hadn’t been shaking all day when he thought of the meetup they’d planned. 

“I’m glad,” Launchpad replied as Drake joined him, and he looked it. “Oh, before I forget.” He picked up a second styrofoam cup from off the stone wall, hidden before by his elbow. “Thought you could use a little pick me up!”

The rich smell of coffee hit him in a wave, and Drake accepted the proffered cup in a bit of a daze. “Y-yeah, I—thanks, LP,” he stuttered a little, already dismantling what little pride he’d managed to salvage since their last meeting. 

Drake didn’t receive gifts well, least of all unexpected ones. Two weeks ago it had been kugel from Launchpad’s Hanukkah party with the McDucks that stunned Drake into silence ( _ Courtesy of Mrs. B. It’s almost as good as my mom’s, and that’s saying something!).  _ He’d pressed the Quackerware into Drake’s hands the night after he’d begged off joining them for the festivities, citing a long patrol shift.

“I’m flying out tonight to spend the rest of Hanukkah with my folks,” Launchpad had said, on a different rooftop in another part of town, standing so close to Drake that the heat of his body warmed the air between them. His eyes were dark and expression shadowed, and there was something imploring in his gaze that Drake just couldn’t crack. A question that he didn’t understand. 

Launchpad didn’t say more, but damn if it didn’t seem like he’d been hesitating in the silence.

“I’ll make sure the city’s still standing when you get back,” Drake had said when Launchpad continued to look at him like he was waiting for Drake to read his mind. He was aiming for confident, but stammered on the delivery when he brushed Launchpad’s fingers taking the Quackerware from him. 

Launchpad’s smile had lacked its typical all-encompassing brilliance, tinged with (dare he say it) disappoint, though Drake was at a loss as to why. 

“I’ll tell my parents you said hi,” Launchpad said. 

“You—you do that,” Drake had replied, grasping at the tatters of his dignity and the shiny Quackerware in his hands. He doubted anyone cared to hear what Drake Mallard had to say. 

But now Launchpad’s smile was warm and for Drake alone. Christmas lights on the building next door alighted behind his head like a halo, and snow landed in his hair. 

Embarrassed by his staring, Drake ducked his head to take a big gulp of his coffee. He immediately burned his tongue. 

“Merry Christmas,” he choked out, and Launchpad laughed, patting him on the back. 

“Merry Christmas, DW,” he replied. He didn’t move his arm from Drake’s back, instead reaching up to squeeze his shoulder. It was like a brand across his back, even through his cold weather gear, and Drake stifled a shiver of pleasure at the contact. In the last two weeks the friendliest interaction he’d had was with a drunk, wannabe carjacker and even he’d made a clumsy attempt to bash his face in. 

“How’s patrol been?” Launchpad asked, finally lowering his arm.

Drake just barely stopped himself from chasing that warmth. Launchpad generated heat like no one he’d ever met, even through all his layers. But more than that, having Launchpad close was like receiving a gift he didn’t deserve, not unlike kugel and coffee. With the night air between them once more, he felt bereft and colder than before. 

“It’s been quiet,” Drake offered, cradling his cup of coffee in both hands in hopes of leeching some of the warmth through his gloves. “A couple attempted break-ins, some drunk Moonlanders singing Christmas carols too loud.”

“O Silent Night, huh?” Launchpad replied, grinning as he picked up the styrofoam cup he’d been drinking from earlier. Drake knew he couldn’t stand coffee, so it was probably hot chocolate.

Drake shook his head with a chuckle he hoped didn’t sound as forced as it felt. “Something like that,” he said, attempting another sip of his coffee that was barely on the lighter side of scalding. He watched the play of headlights on the snow as a car drove by far below. “How was the party?” he asked around a stone in his throat.

Launchpad’s laughter was genuine. “It’s was still going strong when I left. Mr. McDee’s got this thing about Santa which means it’s the one night a year he actually wants to keep the party going. Until dawn, if he can.”

“Santa?” Drake repeated, an incredulous smile tugging at his beak. “Do I even want to know?”

“I know I don’t,” Launchpad replied, laughing so hard he choked a little on his hot chocolate. Drake reached out to him, unsure of what he meant to do, but Launchpad just waved him off, smiling as he regained mastery of himself. 

In the midst of his frenetic movement, Drake caught a glimpse of Launchpad’s favorite blue Hanukkah sweater under his jacket. He’d clearly come straight from the party, bustling with people and food and warmth, to meet Drake on a snowy rooftop on Christmas Eve.

If Drake knew anything, it was that he wasn’t worth that. 

“When uh...when do you have to get back?” Drake asked when there was less of a wheeze to Launchpad’s quiet chuckles. 

He shrugged. “Whenever, really. Though I did promise Mrs. B I’d help her clean up afterwards.”

_ I’m trying to give you an out,  _ Drake thought desperately. 

“I could stick around, if you don’t mind the company,” Launchpad continued, to Drake’s bewilderment. “Since it’s been so quiet and all. Or,” he faltered, rubbing the back of his neck, “or you could come back to the party with me. The more the merrier, y’know?”

His throat closed up as he met Launchpad’s hopeful expression, his instinctive refusal trapped behind his beak. 

Drake knew that Launchpad felt a certain amount of responsibility for him. They fought Jim Starling together, watched Jim Starling go up in flames together, and in the ashes Launchpad handed him the mantle of the hero they mourned together. When he asked if they could stay in contact, Drake said yes because well...he  _ liked  _ Launchpad. He  _ really  _ liked him. 

And that was terrifying. To know that his day could be made better simply by the sound of Launchpad’s voice on the other end of the phone, his smile, his mere presence. Drake was used to being alone; he’d gotten by fine on his own for the last twenty years. Everything from drama school, crappy acting gigs for commercials, stunt work, and finally his holy grail,  _ Darkwing: First Darkness  _ had been achieved solely through his hard work. Alone had always been a guarantee, alone was safe. It was just one of the many things he’d been certain of until Launchpad fell into his life. 

Now he wanted...well, he wanted something he couldn’t have. Something he had no right to ask for. 

“I _ — _ I can’t,”  Drake said, forcing the reply against an uncooperative tongue. He looked away and downed a mouthful of coffee that had inexplicably gone ice cold, hoping to convey an air of grizzled concession. He was an actor for Godfrey’s sake, he could do this. “I offered to take up Gizmoduck’s patrol in the first place. Quiet or not, leaving the city unguarded on Christmas feels like asking for trouble.”

Launchpad was shaking his head before Drake finished speaking. “I was talking to Storkules at the party and he offered to cover for you!”

Drake was starting to feel like an idiot holding a cold cup of coffee so he moved forward to set it on the ledge. “Are you sure that’s what he said?” He knew as well as any Justice Ducks member of Storkules’ love of parties. At the same time, it would be short work to guilt trip him into ditching one if it meant his emotionally stunted coworker could go out and have a life for once. 

Launchpad seemed to have the same thought, albeit if phrased a little kinder. 

“Positive,” he said, smiling as he stepped closer to Drake. He set his cup of hot chocolate down too. “He was asking where you were and I when I said you were covering for Gizmoduck, he _ — _ well, you know I’m not too good at following those big speeches he gives, but the gist I got was that he was insisting that he take up your shift.”

“But won’t that mean he’ll miss the party?” Drake asked stiffly. He crossed his arms over his chest for want of something to do. Launchpad’s gaze made him feel exposed, like he wasn’t wearing the mask and cape at all. 

Launchpad waved his question away. “He already got us all to do a big thing for the winter solstice a couple days ago, so I don’t think he minds.” He grinned, boyish and bright, and there was still snow in his hair. Drake’s heart cleaved at the sight. “Whadaya say, Drake?” he continued, more subdued. “Get out of the cold, eat some good food. Everyone’s dying to meet you, y’know.”

“Me?” Drake blurted, breaking character. 

“Yeah, you,” Launchpad replied, looking at him strangely. “I talk about you all the time. You’re my best friend.”

Drake flinched as though Launchpad had struck him. “Thanks. Thank you. For-for that and for the coffee. But I’ll finish up my patrol if it’s all the same to you. And you-you should get back to the party. They’re probably wondering where you are.”

“They know where I am,” Launchpad countered, trying to meet his eyes. “They know that I’m trying to get you to come to the party.”

Drake barked a hoarse laugh. “Well then you better tell them that Darkwing Duck doesn’t do celebrity appearances.”

“Hey,” Launchpad said, moving to stand directly in front of Drake. He grabbed him by the shoulder so Drake had no choice but to look at him. His voice was almost frantic. “Who do you think I’m talking about?”

“Er...is this a trick question?” Drake said, unwilling to let himself get distracted by Launchpad’s proximity. He gestured down at himself. “Me. Darkwing.”

“Of course I am talking about you,” Launchpad said in a rush, “ _ You _ , Drake. You know that you’re Drake Mallard to me first, right?”

He blinked. Everything sounded as though he were hearing it underwater. “I don’t understand.” 

“Drake,” Launchpad said again, like he was trying to imprint his name in the air through sheer force of will. He grabbed Drake by both shoulders, making his heart leap into his chest. “Why do you think I keep calling you? Arranging these meetings, trying to get you to meet my family?”

“B-because you’re a nice guy and you want to make sure I haven’t turned myself into street pizza,” Drake stammered, overwhelmed by Launchpad’s nearness, the firm but gentle pressure of his hands on his shoulders. “Like-like checking on your investment.”

“Invest _ —Drake, _ it’s because you’re family.  _ My  _ family,” Launchpad implored. The expression on his face verged on desperate, like if he didn’t get Drake to understand now he never would. 

Drake’s mind was a blank in the face of words he hadn’t even dared dream of hearing. A helicopter rumbled overhead, snow fell in silent accolade, and his breath fogged in the space between them. From this utter void, he found himself saying, “I don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to family. I don’t know what to do. What do I do?”

Launchpad’s smile was like an unfolding sunset. “Well first thing you’ve gotta do is come to the family Christmas party. That’s step number one.”

Drake’s laugh was more of a shaky exhale. “Oh, yeah? And what-what’s step two?”

“Well that’s easy,” Launchpad replied, dropping his arms, and Drake felt the absence keenly, “you’ve just gotta remember everyone’s birthday now! If it helps, the boys were all born on the same day.”

“You’re hilarious, you know that?” Drake snarked, but the space beneath his ribs that had been cavernous for so long was warm and twisted up with nerves, and he felt almost giddy in the most terrifying way. 

Launchpad laughed and Drake felt warm. 

“So you’re coming, right?” Launchpad’s expression was hopeful, and it reflected in his voice. Drake was stunned for a moment, wondering if Launchpad had always looked like that when he invited him over. 

“I’ll be there,” he replied, something in him, maybe his heart, shattered and mended when Launchpad’s sigh of relief bowed his shoulders. “I’ve got a change of clothes in the Ratcatcher. And uh…” Drake rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve got presents. For-for the kids. I meant to just give them to you so you could take them, but I guess I can do that now.”

Launchpad fairly beamed. 

“I’ll give Storkules a call.”

  
  


The last time Drake had been to McDuck Manor there was an alien invasion going on. 

There hadn’t been time to take in the sheer scale of it, the opulence of a Scottish mansion sitting on a five mile long hill in the middle of Calisota. Now the grounds were blanketed in thick snow and snowmen dotted the terrain in various states of disembowelment, like someone had used them for sparring practice. Colorful lights hung from the roof and every window gleamed from within. 

Standing just beyond the front steps, Drake was dressed in a green and white sweater that he’d accidentally bought a size too big. He could hear “Blue Christmas” playing from inside and a chorus of voices speaking indistinctly. It had started to snow again, falling just as quiet and heavier than before. 

“I don’t think I can do this,” Drake said. 

Launchpad chuckled, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “That’s the fifth time you’ve said that, DW.”

“Well I meant it those four other times too,” he retorted, wringing the strap of the large canvas bag he was carrying. “What if the kids don’t like the gifts I got them? I’ve never met them, I based it off everything you’ve told me—oh god, throwing stars are a terrible gift for a child.”

“Not this child,” Launchpad assured him. “And they’ll love the gifts. You’re a meticulous guy, I’m sure you did a great job picking them out.”

“Thank you. I think.”

Launchpad turned Drake to face him. 

“They’ll love the gifts and they’ll love you,” he said firmly. “Trust me, Drake.”

Drake sighed heavily, expelling much of the tension bunching in his shoulders. “I do,” he said softly, “I do trust you, LP.”

Launchpad beamed. He began to let go, presumably to open the front door, but Drake stopped him with a hand around his wrist. He swallowed around a desert dry throat when Launchpad glanced back at him. 

“I just...I just wanted you to know that you’re my family too,” he whispered. His  _ real  _ family, Drake supposed he should say, since his memories of his birth family were shadowed by tears and judgement and silence. But maybe all that was clear on his face by the way Launchpad moved in close again, taking Drake’s hand in his own. 

The space between them narrowed until they were nearly standing chest to chest. Their breaths puffed out in the evening air like clouds and Drake could feel his heart ratcheting up into this throat the longer Launchpad stared at him with warm, dark eyes that reflected the flickering Christmas lights. There was  _ still  _ snow in his hair, and Drake didn’t know whether to laugh or kiss him. 

Before he could make a decision either way, the front door opened. 

Bright yellow light spilled down the steps and onto their stunned faces, and they leapt apart under Mrs. Beakley’s one-raised-eyebrow-but-I’m-laughing-at-you-on-the-inside look.

“Launchpad,” she said sharply, amusement lurking behind every third letter, “are you going to bring your guest inside and introduce him to everyone or were you planning on letting him freeze out here?”

“Inside, Mrs. B, definitely inside,” Launchpad replied quickly, ushering Drake to go ahead of him. 

Mrs. Beakley moved to the side to grant them entry, and Drake awkwardly bobbed his head in her direction as he stepped through the doorway. He was unsure what the protocol was for meeting the housekeeper who was actually the super spy who had introduced you to S.H.U.S.H. in the first place. 

She smiled at him, exasperated and fond. 

“Welcome home, Mr. Mallard,” she murmured as he passed. 

Launchpad’s hand was on his shoulder again, pressing gently, and a chorus of voices rose in greeting at their entrance. 

Behind them, Mrs. Beakley shut the door on the cold. 


End file.
